The Unwilling Kunoichi
by Haggath
Summary: Alone, lethally hurt, and in the middle of an enemy territory, Tenten finds herself reminiscing on her life and all the unwilling decisions she has made, starting from the day she decided to become a ninja.
1. Like Mother, Like Daughter

Disclaimer: The anime and manga 'Naruto', including the lovely weapon mistress Tenten, were created by Masashi Mishimoto and his respective partners. I'm not making any money with this fanfic.

Author's notes: Tenten. What a fascinating character, yet so little information of her is given, and so little appreciation she seems to get.

However, this is not a place for me to go into detail of what I think of her and her character. No, this is a place for me to give her tribute in the only way I can; I have no skill with photoshop, I've never been into painting or drawing, poems are not my cup of tea, and I've read enough essays on our beloved weapon mistress to convince myself that all the things I could say have already been said. So, the only option left for me is to write. Write a **lot.**

This story will be long. With it, I plan to illustrate Tenten's life from her birth to her fateful mission. With it, I plan to give her a background she more than deserves. With it, I plan to pay my tribute to her. So, as you can see, I have quite a lot of work ahead of me.

So, here is _The Unwilling Kunoichi_, chapter one. Read and enjoy - giving feedback is voluntary, but much appreciated.

* * *

**The Unwilling Kunoichi - Chapter one  
**by Haggath**  
**

_I never wanted to be a ninja._

I pulled a kunai out of my body. I felt its edge with my fingers, marvelling on the craftsmanship before lowering it on the ground next to the other knives.

_The life expectancy of a ninja is ridiculously short._

The next Kunai had sunken a good deal into my right shoulder from the back, and it was a bit trickier to detach than the last one. I winced at the pain as my trembling hand grabbed the handle, and gritted my teeth together as I pulled it free. Bringing it in front of my face, I stared blank-faced at its bloody surface. It was amazing just how much blood I still had in my body, even after removing half a dozen throwing knives from their wounds.

_Ninjas__ die alone._

The last throwing knife couldn't be removed. It had been thrown with such a force that it had pierced through me and pinned me against the tree I now leaned against. Worse still, it had caught me right below my left lung, and was bleeding more than all the others combined. I knew that if I dared to move it, I'd die from blood loss in a matter of minutes.

_There will be no glory, no beauty, in neither life nor death of a ninja_.

Luckily, my opponent looked a lot worse than I did. He had been a ninja of Sound, probably chuunin or jounin level. I had caught the poor man right in the middle of my _Rising Twin Dragons_ technique. He had literally fallen into pieces, but not before managing to hurl several projectiles at my direction - more like in a blind, desperate fashion than calculated way, but still managing to hit his target. I grinned at my mistake before sighing, and felt how something rose up my throat. I coughed against my uninjured hand, confirming my fears. Blood. It seemed the last kunai had managed to pierce my lung after all.

_Ninjas are the tools of warfare._

I leaned back, trying to relax my muscles and ease my breathing. I held no illusions; I knew I was going to die. My team was scattered, and my current position was far from any of the rendezvous point. There shouldn't be any friendly shinobi designated to this location, and even if they happened to walk nearby by accident, I had no means to signal them without signalling the enemy at the same time. I heard the fighting go on in the distance, yells and explosions going on in the otherwise silent, peaceful night. There was no way to determine who was winning.

_I never wanted to be a ninja. I never wanted to go on this mission, either._

The noise in the background became more slurred as I paid less attention to it due to my combined exhaustion and the blood loss, and I found myself drifting deep into my mind. My own thoughts and memories were far more alluring than the aching pain of my body or the distant sounds of killing and suffering. I turned my gaze upwards, past the trees, and caught a glimpse of the night sky between the tree tops. I frowned. The night was too good to be spent on a mission.

It's not like someone asked for my opinion about this mission, anyway. And even if they had, I wouldn't have said anything about it being a bad idea.

I smiled a bitter smile. That's how it has always been, I suppose. I've never voiced my disagreement or doubt, not when it came to the _important_things: Missions, teams, becoming a ninja, stuff like that.

I think I caught the idea from my mother. _She_ never said what she thought about missions, either - not even about her last one that cost her life. As the thought entered my mind, I coughed up some more blood before relaxing my breathing again. I really had come to my mother, more than I ever wanted.

But now I'm confusing even myself. Seeing that we're going this way, me having a life-flashes-in-front-of-your-eyes experience, I might as well make it as comprehensible as possible and start at the place where you usually start - the beginning.

---

I haven't yet met anyone who could remember the _very_ beginning. Y'know, the bright light, the cold air, the feeling when you're pushed out of your mother's womb - that stuff. I don't remember anything about the first year of my life, either, but some people do. But those people are something above average, something exceptional.

I'm not exceptional.

I think the first thing I remember is my mother; her blue eyes, her flowing chocolate hair, her kind, smiling face, the softness of her arms, her distinctive aroma that reminds me of fresh bread nowadays. She loved to bake. I can remember eating fresh buns often for breakfast, but that comes in later. I remember her kind, soothing voice that could turn to steel in a matter of milliseconds when I did something bad or dangerous, and then melt back to that oh-so-motherly voice as soon as the situation was over.

Mother was a kunoichi, and she often let me to the care of my father when she was away on missions. It's only natural that my next memory was of him. He was not a shinobi, but instead a weaponsmith. I remember how he often took me into an embrace that smelled like smoke and fire, but in a comforting, homey way. His dark hair was short, his arms were strong, and he only had one, dark-blue eye - many smiths lose one eye because of the embers that fly in their workshop. My father's voice was much like himself: Rough around the edges, and he had trouble putting emotions to it. He was a rather stoic man when it came to most things, and clearly had trouble to understand what was the best way to treat his daughter - I suppose he wanted to have a son, I never asked - but he was a quick learner, and by the time I was three, he was fully adapted to his "brown-haired angel", as he sometimes - very rarely - called me.

I suppose out the things that weren't directly about my parents, the rest of my family was the next thing I remember. It wasn't big, and it sure didn't have a strong influence to Konoha like the Uchihas and Hyuugas did - but it was **my **family and it stick together. That's what matters, right? I had several aunts, uncles, and cousins, but very few of them were even close to my age, so I really didn't have friends to play with from among my family - only aunts that showered me with sweets and uncles that complimented me. It wasn't that bad. The biggest difference among my family was that most of my relatives from my father's side were craftsmen and merchants, whereas many of mother's relatives were ninjas. I suppose it brought its own tension during the times we gathered together, but I can't say I noticed it.

Despite that mother was a ninja, she and dad got along nicely as far as I can remember. I don't know what her rank was, and I haven't been nosing around to find out, but she sometimes spent long periods of time away from home, leaving me and father to take care of each other. It worked surprisingly well - he was a firm, level-headed man who did his best to take care of this little girl's silly ideas and childish enthusiasm and pulled it off with grace. I mean, look at me. I didn't end up a nutcase, did I?

Don't answer.

Besides, it's not like any of us had the right complain: There were many orphans and single parents around, thanks to the Fox-Demon, and we were an intact, healthy family. We were lucky.

That changed a little before I turned five. I remember it well. It was the first time I came across the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

---

I ran home from the kinder-garden, despite the fact that mother and father had told me not to run on the streets. I couldn't help it. I was too happy and excited to walk. Mother was coming home today, and she had promised she wouldn't have to leave anywhere in a long time.

'We can spend all day playing and drawing and signing and having fun!' I chanted in my mind, so happy that I could burst. 'Perhaps mama will come to the kinder-garden with me to see all my friends, too. Or I can invite them to our house, now that mama is home.' I loved being in the kinder-garden, I really did. I was the only child, and it was really the only place where I could see kids of my age. It came with its downsides, of course; many children there had no 'mama' or 'papa', and it was a subject we were silently - sometimes not so silently, but more privately - ordered to avoid. A child's mind was easily distracted, though, and the one forbidden thing was easily forgotten in the warm atmosphere, even though I did wonder every now and then why we shouldn't talk of our parents too loudly.

I didn't have to wonder for very long.

I think that child's mind is, despite its incompleteness, very quick to pick up things from such simple things as atmosphere only and react to it. I suppose I should credit my father for smiling sweetly and speaking words so that one couldn't say if something was wrong or not, but right after I entered the house and my cheerful yell for my mother went unanswered, I knew that something was off.

There was no answer even as I repeated my call in a perplexed voice. I walked into the house, and I still don't know why I walked into the kitchen, but it was there I found my father with an ANBU. Normally, I would've noticed the animal mask and the presence of a person I didn't know in our house before all else, but this time was different. My father was a stern man, the kind who has trouble showing his more tender side around people - that included me too, to a lesser extent -, but this time he sat still in his chairs, his arms crossed on the table, with a look that spoke of more emotions than I had ever seen on his face.

I was confused, and more than slightly worried. My worry deepened when the ANBU turned to look at me before my father did. When he finally did, he smiled at me in a way I couldn't recall seeing before, and motioned me to come closer to him. I hesitated because of the man I didn't know, but did as told nonetheless.

"What's wrong, papa? Are you hurt?" God, how I wanted to ask where mother was. I didn't know how I was able to keep it within me. My father ruffled my hair in response with the unfamiliar smile still on his face. I pouted. "Papa, you'll mess up my hair! Sakura took a long time doing it!" Yes, I did know Sakura back then, from the kinder-garden. I don't think she remembers me, though.

"I'm all right, sweetie." His answer didn't ease my anxiousness, and I didn't know why. "Listen, I have something to tell you, and I'm afraid it's something you don't like to hear, but be a good girl and deal with it, okay?" Father was referring to my childish habit of plucking my ears and running away making racket whenever I knew there was going to be something I didn't want to hear. This time, the thought didn't even cross my mind, but I didn't tell him that.

He sighed. "I'm afraid mama isn't coming home today." I felt tears pricking on the corners of my eyes already. "She ran into some trouble, and I know she really did her best to make it in time, but she just couldn't make it." I bit down my wail. I was a spirited girl, and I knew father didn't like to see me cry, so I stayed strong for his sake. His bluff would've gone through if he had been able to stay strong, too.

"So when is mama coming home?" I could feel father's hand sliding off my hair. I felt cold. I could feel how father swallowed nervously, but his voice didn't falter - yet.

"Sweetie, I don't really know. It might take a long time, perhaps longer than ever so far." I couldn't help the sob that escaped from my mouth or the tears that fell down from my eyes.

"But I don't wanna wait that long! I want mama to be home with us again!" Father didn't look at me. "Will you promise she'll be home soon?" My father always kept his promises. He didn't answer, and I turned at the stranger who was silently observing the two of us - don't ask why I did that, I have trouble figuring that out myself. "Will you, mister?" The ANBU didn't even flinch, but I knew that I had just done something bad - not bad in a forbidden way, but bad in a way of what was going to follow - kind of like in a way when you've just plugged in something that you know is broken and then flick the switch, know what I mean?

Anyway, I suppose I had it coming. One can't hide from the truth forever, and my luck had been running short ever since I set foot in our house.

"Child," the ANBU began in a colourless voice, his red, swirling eyes glaring at me from beneath his mask. "Your mother will not be coming back." I don't really recall what my father did. Perhaps he tried to grasp the man or perhaps clasp his hands over his daughter's ears, his daughter who had suddenly become as still as a statue. Whatever he did, it wasn't enough to prevent me from hearing the dreadful news.

"Your mother is dead."

I learned two things that day, even though it took years to realize them.

One, ignorance truly is bliss.

And two, Uchiha Itachi really is a heartless bastard.

---

I don't have a clear memory of the following month. I vaguely remember I was crying, crying and hating everything and everyone. It was pointless, but satisfying, seeing the world in a blazing red colours rather than oppressing shades of grey and black. I know because that was what the world looked like after I couldn't hate any longer.

I think my father was the person who finally made me stop my crying and hating. Make no mistake, he was the person I hated the most, because he was always around and took care of me. Still, it wasn't my gratitude for him that made me come down on earth again, but rather the knowledge that he had lost something important as well and was hurting even more than I did.

Yeah, it took me a month to come up with that simple truth. I was a kid, after all.

I went back to the kinder-garden roughly a month after the news of my mother's demise. Even then, I knew I had no right to act like the drama queen; I had simply lost my mother, and that was, like I said, very common those days.

It was nothing special.

The world was still grey even after three months, but it was slowly getting better, for both me and my father. We didn't really do that much to cheer up each other, but instead got colours back to our world outside our home. For me, that place was the kinder-garden, place where all my friends were, place where I could happily join in the games and other activities knowing that I wouldn't be reminded of my pain. For my father, it was his workshop, where he could concentrate on his work and forget everything else. Our family also proved to be of great help, and it was very common for the two of us to go and visit some of my relatives who, for the most time, welcomed us with open arms.

I think it was one of my uncles - or maybe one of my cousins - that eventually presented me with the idea of becoming a ninja. At that time, I declined it vehemently, and to my credit, I did it without tears when the thought led me back to my mother. Whoever came up with the suggestion didn't press it any further, and the incident was soon forgotten, fortunately. The word 'ninja' was one of those words I associated with my mother, and therefore, I wanted the word to stay out of my life - as ridiculous as it may sound, coming from someone living in a hidden ninja village.

The silliness of that desire was soon proved, as another person who was connected to that dreadful word stepped into my life.

Her name was Miyu - at least that's what father called her, and I picked it up. I don't think I ever caught her surname. She showed up at our house some six months after the news of my mother's death, and I was the one who let her in. I remember her being polite and timid right from the beginning, often turning her bluish grey eyes away when they had remained in an eye contact for too long. She was rather small for an adult; her height wasn't much and her frame wasn't very rich, either. It was oddly fitting to her nature.

Before anything else, she asked if I was Tenten. At least she had some sense in her head to begin with that question rather than with something else. After I had replied that I was, she smiled in shy fashion and inspected me with her gaze. Now, I was by no means an ugly child, and this was simply a stranger looking at me, but for the first time in my life, I started to wonder what I looked like - her gaze felt like a test I knew I had to pass.

She averted her gaze to the side soon enough, and whatever she thought, she didn't say it. She asked me to take her to my father, and being the well-mannered child I was, I obeyed without a second thought, leading her to my father's workshop.

She never told me if I had passed the test or not. I never bothered asking.

That wasn't the last time I saw of Miyu. In the following weeks, she appeared several times in a similar fashion at our front door, getting friendlier and friendlier every time - she told me her name at the third visit, but I had found out about it from my father after her first visit. I didn't tell her that. Every time she visited us - or my father, as it seemed -, she stayed a bit longer, until eventually her seventh (or was it eight?) visit lasted long enough for the dinner time to come, and my father hadn't had time to prepare food - he wasn't a great cook, but he knew how to cook basic food. After I had informed my father impatiently of this through the closed door that led to his workshop, he finally realized how much time had passed.

But it wasn't him that came out of that workshop to prepare food. Instead, it was Miyu, asking me in that timid fashion of hers to come and help her with the dinner, barely able to look into my eyes long enough to speak out her request.

The dinner that night was more than slightly awkward, there being three participants instead of the usual two.

That's how Miyu came to my life, stepping into the place that had been empty since my mother's death. There were no words exchanged about the subject, not between me and her or me and father. I suppose that was the good way, the _only_ way to do it. I don't know how I would've reacted if father had told me I was going to have a step-mother, and so soon after mother's demise. Instead, I just silently accepted Miyu's presence in our house when she kept company to my father and helped out in daily tasks.

That doesn't mean I was happy about it, of course. We got off rocky, me treating her like a stranger for several months, and not showing father any interest to even _consider_ talking about the subject. She was a smart one, though. She didn't push our relationship, but simply silently waited for me to get more comfortable with her around - I guess she also took her time to adapt to me. But, that still didn't change that I acted as cold and indifferent as was possible for a five-year-old - soon to be six - girl to act.

As cold as the shower Miyu got from me was, it was _nothing_ compared to the one I gave my father. He and I had had a close relationship, even before mother had died, and now I even sometimes was as cold and proper to him as I was to Miyu. Now that I think back, I really must've broken his heart the way I acted. But, let's be honest, I don't think I could be blamed: I was a young girl who had her mother snatched away from her, and whose father had betrayed her memory by seeking comfort in other woman's arms. I couldn't understand him even if I wanted to.

That was, at least, what I wanted to think.

---

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring into the mirror that hung on my wall, trying not to look at the comb or the hands that worked on my hair.

My hair was getting longer and longer, meaning I had to take more time every day to make it look good and neat. Five minutes earlier, I had been combing my hair in the bathroom, using a hand mirror in addition to the bathroom mirror to make my hair fall gracefully below my shoulders. That's where Miyu found me.

I was aware of the silence in my room, the sound of combing unnaturally loud in my ears. But, the silence wasn't awkward. Not to us. To me and Miyu, it was a normal way to interact, to be silent, try to help each other, and avoid hurting each other with words in the process. There were numerous subjects I didn't like to talk about - not with her or anyone else, really -, and she was a timid, shy person who didn't want anyone else any harm. Being careful just came natural to her.

That was partially why I was surprised she had come up with the suggestion to comb my hair. It was a giant leap in the relationship between the two of us, and she had never taken such a bold step before, because she knew moving too quickly might've shattered the delicate relationship we two had. We both knew that much.

Knowing all this, I really have trouble answering why I came up with the next question. Perhaps it was because Miyu had chosen to further deepen our relationship, and I felt I had to do something as well, like it would've been a contest - which is really, really stupid, but remember that I was just a child back then. Perhaps it was an accident, something that was meant to stay unspoken in my thoughts and never see the light of day. Or perhaps it was just an emotional outburst to break free of the suffocating situation that had lasted for over four months already.

"Did you have a family?" I felt how her hands stopped working on my hair. The silence became even heavier. Being the one who had called it, I had to speak up. "Your ring," I spoke quietly, never taking my eyes off the mirror. "You wear a ring." She and father had never announced marriage, or anything even closely related to it. And father didn't wear his ring anymore. Kids are sharp, eh?

The silence stretched on, hanging above us like a dark cloud. Could it be that so simple words could tear it all apart? I knew Miyu wasn't my mother, not even close, but I didn't like the idea of losing yet another maternal figure. My gaze swooped down on the floor, and I regretted the words I had said so freely.

Slowly, the hands started moving again. Miyu's voice has always been quiet, she had never raised her voice in my vicinity, and this time wasn't an exception in the slightest.

"You're very perceptive, Tenten," she admitted, but I couldn't tell if she was pleased for it or not. "Yes, I used to have a family. My husband was a ninja." At this point, I could feel how my body tensed at the mention of _that_ word. Miyu's fingers worked carefully with my hair, as if it would've been the finest silk in the world. "We didn't have any children. We didn't have time to." I dared to look sideways at my step-mother. Her eyes were closed. I followed her lead. "He was killed during the Kyuubi's attack five years ago."

Like I said, I didn't know for sure why I opened my mouth in the first place. What I did know, however, was that I hadn't intended it to hurt _both_ of us. And I sure hadn't meant to get any kind of greater insight on just why my father had hooked up with Miyu.

In any case, there I was; sitting on the edge of my bed, eyes shut, my lower lip between my teeth, my hands gripping the bedsheets until my knuckles turned white, and doing my best not to cry. My step-mother had lowered her hands and was fingering the comb with a sorrowful look in her eyes. It amazed me just how many types of silences were there, and just how _bad_ that current one felt.

Father and Miyu were alike. They had both known what it was like to live in a relationship that could come to an abrupt end anytime, and they had both experienced the worst-case scenario coming true. Perhaps my father had it harder, perhaps he had it better: He had me, but I wasn't exactly what you could call a perfect model for a loving daughter. More so, I was holding Miyu's presence against him - although silently - whereas I should've tried to see things from his point of view. I felt, for the first time in my life, really sick without having a fever. I started to realize that my father's and Miyu's relationship was deeper than I could probably imagine - and that it wasn't, by no means, a way for my father to love another woman again.

"The pain doesn't go away. But, it fades. Kind of like…" A sad smile graced her features as I looked up at Miyu, her blonde locks dangling above my face. Had I shifted closer to her unintentionally? "When you scrape your knee: First it bleeds and hurts, but then the bleeding stops and it doesn't hurt anymore - unless you touch the wound. You understand?" I couldn't recall ever sharing a moment like this with her, either, but I really didn't care. I nodded mutely, fighting against tears. Father always wanted me to be a strong girl who didn't cry. "But, unlike a scraped knee, which stops hurting in time, this pain will never really go away." Up until this point, I wasn't sure if she was talking about herself or me. I didn't wonder for long.

"Not even when you're an adult, Tenten." She hadn't probably meant her speech to be scary, but I was still frightened. Pulling my legs on the bed, I hugged my knees, burying my face against the skin of my thighs. I could feel how something hot trickled down from my eyes. I didn't trust my voice, and Miyu's voice had become quieter and more fragile than usual, too. Her words were no more than a whisper.

"I'm glad that I met your father." Their relationship wasn't about love, or trying to feel something they had once lost. It was about coping. It was about surviving, understanding, and comforting. I don't know which hurt me more: the fact I had been so angry and cold at my father, the sorrow of losing my mother that resurfaced in my mind again, or the deep sadness of the situation between us three. Perhaps it was all those three together.

I don't know how long we stayed like that, me shaking against my knees, and Miyu looking sorrowfully over me. I never indicated that I'd be in need of comfort, and I'm glad Miyu didn't push it. We had just came longer in the last five minutes than we had in the last three months, and it wasn't like she was going to get greedy just for the sake of her own maternal instincts. Still, she didn't leave, either, not until I raised my gaze, wiped the tears off my face and lowered my legs back. I heard and felt how my step-mother stood up from my side, the comb in her hands.

"Miyu?" My voice was shaky, but not desperate - steady, but not totally controlled. She turned to look at me with her eyes that had gotten back their trademark shyness. "Could you please do my hair again? I think I ruined it when it got between my face and knees." She smiled. I dared a small smile as well. Perhaps our relationship was about understanding as well.

---

I never wanted to have a step-mother.

But if I was going to have one anyway, I'm glad it was Miyu.

I like to think that day was a kind of a new beginning. I got down from my high horse of being cold to father and handling Miyu like a nanny and decided I didn't want to feel sad anymore. I couldn't go back to the girl I had been before mother had died, but I got pretty close. I was generally happier, brighter, and more interested in the things children of that age usually are: Toys, TV shows, friends, games, drawing, singing, you name it. I think father got a bit better, too, seeing me acting more like his daughter and less like a miniature block of ice. Miyu was Miyu; still timid and polite, careful not to stress things between me and her - but I could tell she was happy for me, too. I'd wager that her own discomfort was lessened more by my father's renewed state than directly my own mood, but I could never tell for sure. I wouldn't hold it against her if that was the case, anyway.

This was the situation when I turned seven years old.

I've always liked my birthdays, you know. I always got two different parties each day: They'd throw me one in the kinder-garden - which, for the last year, had been a pre-school - with my friends, and there was cake and cookies and laughter and games and fun, and then I'd get one later on in my house with at least my father, with cake and presents and a warm, cosy feeling. Mother had been present at only my fourth birthday out of the ones I remembered - all the others had been spoiled by her missions. Father and I had been all alone, in a deeper sense of the word than one could imagine, during my fifth birthday. It had been, by far, the hardest one for me to swallow, but like I said before, a child's mind can be easily distracted, and my father knew me well enough to keep certain thoughts out of my head.

I didn't really feel I repaid his kindness on my sixth birthday. It was before I had wholly accepted Miyu's presence in our house, and even though she wasn't there _then_, thank God, I couldn't just forget her or her relationship with father.

It was probably the worst birthday for him.

My seventh birthday was something I think my birthdays should be. It was bright - despite the fact it was pouring outside -, filled with warmth, laughter, presents, and most of all, renewed unity between me and father. Miyu was there, too, smiling timidly - she had moved in permanently not too long after my sixth birthday. I remember getting a beautifully decorated comb from her.

I still have that comb.

Sunshine doesn't last forever, but thankfully I didn't think that way that day. However, it became an obvious truth to me the day after, when father handed me a present from my cousin that had 'arrived too late for my birthday'. I accepted his story without a second thought that day, but nowadays I know such fortunate coincidences are too rare to happen in the real world.

The present was from my more distant relatives. To be accurate, it was from a cousin from my mother's side. Most of my mother's relatives were ninjas. See a dangerous connection here?

To make matters worse, it was from the same cousin that had presented me with the idea of becoming a ninja. At that point, I had completely forgotten the offer, but he obviously hadn't. His present was a letter he had written, including a short essay of the basics of the life of a ninja - including all the negative sides, too - written in a form a seven-year-old could understand it. Along with the letter were two knives, and a fair warning of their sharp edges was written on a separate note.

It had been long since I'd last seen a kunai.

And my first thought was my mother.

In that light, my response was probably pretty understandable. I stuffed the letter back inside, shut the lid, and put the present in my closet, burying it with clothes, intending never to see it again, or to give it a second thought. In a sudden burst of nostalgia, I thought about a scenario where I'd find it years later and could, finally, laugh at it and the thought it represented.

Why didn't I simply throw it away, you ask? I had been taught to respect the presents, no matter how bad it might be. It's the thought that counts, right?

It was probably also the thought that was going to be my downfall.

Now that I look back to it, I have to marvel at how tricky my cousin was. His timing was spot on; My birthday was in March, and my pre-school was about to end at the end of May, after which I'd need to decide - or rather, my father would have to decide, but I could have my piece to say in that - how my education was to continue. I could be sent to lower level of comprehensive school, which would in the long run (really really long run) prepare me for well-educated jobs, such as scholars, doctors, and so on. My father said I was sharp, and I tended to work hard, so I probably stood a chance in that kind of school. Miyu said she could tell I was going to have nimble fingers (she was a tailor herself), and would fare well in some similar form of craftsmanship as she - she even offered to start my tutoring for it herself, "with my limited knowledge" as she put it, blushing modestly.

And then there was, of course, the possibility for me to begin my studies at the Ninja Academy. We didn't speak one word of it, but the present from my cousin left me aware of it, and my father most likely knew the nature of the 'late present'. He never held anything in secret from Miyu, so she must've known, too. Whatever they thought about it, they didn't say (I later on learned from my aunt that father and cousin had had a loud argument considering the gift well before my birthday. But that's jumping years ahead.). I did my best to repel the thought from my mind as well.

Still, I would be lying if I said that option didn't cross my mind.

Spring came and passed quickly, and I soon found myself standing in the yard of my kinder-garden, wearing a neat, brown skirt with a dark-red shirt, a garland made of numerous colourful flowers resting on top of my head. I watched as my friends were walking away with their parents or, in more unfortunate cases, parent. Some laughed happily, some, like me, were sad over the fact that our time in the kinder-garden was over. I grasped my father's hand and did my best to smile genuinely at both him and Miyu as we set off to our home.

I still hadn't made my decision at that point. In all honesty, I had tried to avoid the whole subject.

Unlike so many children, I never was so rapidly fond of summer. It was often too hot and humid for my liking, and playing outside just made it feel hotter. This summer was particularly hot and oppressive right from the start, and asides from a few rainy days, it only got worse in the end.

I suppose that was only fitting, considering that I had to make a heavy choice during it. Speaking of which, I knew I could easily cut down my options from three to two, and no one would be blaming me for it.

Still, despite what I thought about my cousin, his present, and ninjas in general, I often found myself gazing at the direction of the closet where that damn box still laid.

When it came to the end of July, I wasn't certain which weighted my mood down more: The oppressively hot weather, or the decision I would have to make. My time was running short, and I still wasn't sure what the right choice was. It's funny how I thought that there was going to be just one right choice that would lead me to happiness, and two wrong, which wouldn't in the end turn out so happy. But, life is easier when it's black and white, and I still think you shouldn't put so many expectations on the shoulders of a seven-year-old child.

Anyway, I knew I had to resort to drastic measures to limit down my number of choices.

I walked into my room, and opened the closet, reaching for the present I hadn't opened since my birthday, and headed outside. I would at least read through what my cousin had to say.

---

The summer must've been at its worst by then, and even walking outside was enough to make me sweat. That was one of reasons why I stood still in the park, under an old, large willow that shadowed most part of the bench I was sitting on. My cousin's present was next to me, closed, and the letter he had written was on my lap, still in the grasp of my hands. I had read the letter, completely this time, and then read it again, just to make sure I understood everything. Well, it's not like I understood _all _of it, but the parts I did caused several different emotions.

_Dear cousin Tenten,_ it began.

_First of all, happy seventh birthday! I hope you've enjoyed your day so far. You know, seven years is a pretty important age for us who live in hidden villages. It means you will leave the kinder-garden and __be given options on what you want to be when you grow up, and this is for real! It is more than a chance to choose where you can go next, it's an important decision that will shape your life!_

At this point, my cousin went on about how marvellous opportunity it was and how proud he was for his cousin to finally reach it. He really should've become a poet instead of a ninja. I didn't get the most of it, but I was happy knowing that cousin was glad for me.

_Your father is a smith. Your step-mother, _At this point I felt my throat tighten, but continued reading. I knew cousin didn't know enough of what was going on in my family, and I didn't want to tell him, either. _As far as I know, is a tailor. That means they will both explain you what it is to become a craftsman in a hidden village. If you remember our little conversation (I don't blame you if you don't, you were a young girl back then), I gave you another option as well. To become something that gives our village its unique feature, a ninja of Konoha. _My throat closed up even more, and I felt my hands trembling at the familiar word. I don't know how I was able to bite it down and continue. I knew that from this point on, the word was going to show up a lot.

_Ninjas are the guardians of this village, and guardians of our homeland. The Land of Fire doesn't train ninjas in any other villages, which means you, I, and everyone who lives here is in a very special and lucky position._

That part left me more confused than anything else back then, someone telling me that I was special. Nowadays, of course, I know that isn't true. Being born in Konoha doesn't automatically mean you are something special or extra-ordinary. Take me, for an example.

_That's because everyone who lives here has, or has had, an opportunity to be a ninja._

Again, bull. My cousin failed to see that someone who's crippled since birth obviously can't be a ninja, nor will be given an opportunity to be so. Even my seven-year-old self noticed that something was off, but I continued reading nonetheless.

_But, becoming a ninja is a long, rough road, and only the toughest and those who work the hardest come to see the end of it._

He did know how to catch a child's interest, though. I knew I was hard-working, father had told me so! Probably every parent tells their offspring so…

Right, right, the letter.

_But hard work has its rewards, Tenten! When you're strong and old, like me, - _My cousin was fifteen at that time, barely passed his chuunin exam - _you will come to understand what's it really like to be a ninja: It's to know that you're able to protect your village, your home, and your family, with your own strength. It's to know nothing bad can happen to them as long as you breathe._

I was crying silently at this point, my tears running down my cheeks as I bit my lower lip. Granted, my cousin had several ideas off, and he obviously wasn't able to see the whole gruesome picture of just in how many ways ninjas could be used in a way that had _nothing_to do with protecting their loved ones, but I forgive him that. He was young, and a bit idealistic, and didn't mean any harm to his little cousin, not even when he proceeded to describe some stories of the 'glorious' life and death of a ninja, how sweet and free and yet how tiring and hard their life was - in an exaggerating, over-dramatic way that was common for him.

Besides, being the little girl I was, I was a sucker for long, over-dramatic stories.

In the end, when I finally folded the letter, put it back in the box, and carefully pulled out one kunai for me to look at, I realized that I wasn't really interested in what cousin thought of being a ninja. Now that I was a bit more skilled with handling unwanted memories, my interest laid solemnly in finding out what my _mother_ had thought about being a ninja, and why _she_ had ever become one. Were her reasons the same cousin spoke of, or did being a ninja hide something else in it, too?

I really wished someone could tell me more. I had only ended up more confused.

---

The next day, I did something I never thought I'd do. When all the three of us were seated at the kitchen table for breakfast, I asked my father where the memorial stone where mother's name was engraved was. My cousin's letter had mentioned the stone, and that every ninja who died on a mission had their name there, leaving the rest for me to figure - I picked up fairly quickly that mother's name must've been there as well. Anyway, father didn't react visibly, save for the brief shadow of sorrow and sadness that crossed over his eyes briefly when I mentioned mother. He always was a bit slow to answer, so I waited patiently, never taking my determined eyes off him. I wanted him to know that this wasn't just a childish whim. But, to both of our surprise, Miyu spoke up, offering to take me there.

Upon seeing her careful smile, I knew she knew I was serious about this. Come to think of it, there probably wouldn't have been other reason why she had volunteered.

---

It was just as hot as yesterday, but I could feel that the wind was stronger today, bringing refreshing gusts of cool air from the north and giving us a foretaste of the approaching autumn. Miyu led me through the streets of Konoha, east from the craftsman's terrace, through the general trade and store district, and eventually heading south towards the residential area of the village. Despite the seriousness of our trip, I couldn't hide my curiosity, and my eyes travelled here and there as I tried to catch a glimpse of everything I deemed interesting. Miyu noted that I look like a startled owl with eyes wide as saucers and the quick turns of my head. I pouted at her, but not in a serious way, and told her to blame my father for not taking me to a stroll more often. She giggled - she was probably the_only_ adult who could giggle in a dignified manner -, but said no more, and I was silent too. We both knew that my father had his hands full of work as it was as he tried to support our family.

I don't really recall when I started acknowledging Miyu as part of our family, really, but it didn't feel downright wrong and it did make things easier.

As we stepped out of the actual town area, still heading south, my anxiousness grew, but this time it was more in a nervous fashion. I walked slightly closer to Miyu now, but we still didn't have any kind of physical contact - as usual. My cousin had mentioned the training grounds, saying something about 'making boys into men', which I didn't fully understand due to my young age, but the way he wrote of it left me nervous.

I couldn't make out what Miyu was thinking as we walked in silence past the numerous training areas, and eventually turned away from the road and right in the middle of one of them. It was empty, fortunately, and we walked across the large field, and past three huge logs that stood in the middle of the area. Following the edge of woods, we finally came upon a small glade. In the middle of it was situated a small, gleaming, oddly-shaped slab of dark granite. I knew then that that was the memorial stone we had come to see.

But we weren't the only ones who had got that idea: In front of the stone, with his hands crossed behind his back, stood a man in white and red robes, the wind flapping the cloth that fell from under his triangular-shaped hat and covered the back of his head and neck.

Up to that point in my life, I had never actually seen the Hokage, but I somehow _knew_ that this man was something strong and wise and just _powerful_.

He was something special.

Miyu, of course, recognized the man immediately, freezing in her tracks. She had always been shy and timid, but the look on her face spoke to me of something far deeper than just shyness or uncertainty. I somehow think, if we had managed to see the man before, she would've turned us around and suggested we come back at a better time. I think I would've been happy to follow that advice.

But, alas, we had walked too close. He had no doubt already noticed our presence. I shifted a little closer to Miyu. The man's aura, and her way of acting had woken up my own fears - which wasn't particularly hard, mind you - and for a split second, I really wished I could've hidden behind her legs and let her handle the situation.

"We're sorry for interrupting you, Hokage-sama." Miyu said, bowing deeply. "We didn't know you were here. We will take our leave immediately." I felt even more intimidated, and fought the urge to run away. It was then I realized just _why_ this man was the Hokage.

He chuckled whole-heartedly, and I felt as if my heart made a jump every time his quiet laughter reached its peak. At first, I thought it was because I was terrified, but when he turned around, I could feel my fear leaving me. He was smiling with closed eyes, and I somehow felt his smile was enough of a reason for everyone to smile. I sure was tempted to. Also, with the many wrinkles around his eyes, mouth, and on his forehead, he looked a lot more like someone's grandfather rather than a leader of a hidden ninja village (it took me a while to realize he could be both at the same time). At this point, I felt already much more at ease, and suddenly I was terribly afraid of the same thing as Miyu: That we had interrupted this jolly old man's private time. That worry, too, was soon thrown into the wind.

"Not at all, not at all." Even his sound was all grandfather-like. "I've already taken my time here, and it is always nice to see people who are willing to remember the sacrifices of the past generations." Again, he chuckled, and my heart seemed to follow its rhythm. "It gives old geezers like me a reason to believe they'll be remembered after all." Oh, he even cracks jokes? His eyes became inspecting and I saw or more like _felt_ how his gaze travelled on me and Miyu. Narrowing his eyes ever-so-slightly, he muttered in a thoughtful voice: "But I rarely see people who aren't ninja come here."

I ignored Miyu's stuttering as she tried to get something intelligent out of her mouth, trying to cram up thanks, a polite disagreement about Hokage's joke, and maybe even an explanation as to why we were here in the same sentence. Instead, I walked past her and toward the stone, but not before giving the old man a wordless bow as gracefully as I could. Miyu had fallen silent, and I could feel that I was the centre of attention for both of the adults now, but I didn't care. I was here to find my mother's name, to see a concrete piece of information of the side of her life I didn't know anything of. But what was I going to after I had found it?

I hadn't really thought that far yet.

I wasn't illiterate, but I didn't have particularly exceptional reading skill, either. Logically, I started to read from the top and made my way downwards, trying to recognize my mother's name from amongst the sea of kanjis that looked just slightly clearer than jumbled to me. It was then I realized to my horror that I probably couldn't recognize mother's name even if I came across it - I didn't know what her family name was! She had never picked up father's family name, something that irked the more conservative members of both families, but since something like that was becoming more and more common nowadays, it was something they could eventually swallow - barely.

As fate would have it, the Third stepped on my side at this point, and I couldn't help my gaze rising upwards to see his face. He was smiling.

"Are you here to visit your father?" I suppose it was a logical conclusion, seeing how I was in the company of Miyu, but he was wrong nonetheless. I shook my head.

"I'm here to see Mama." The Third raised an eyebrow at this, glancing curiously at my step-mother's direction, but didn't say anything about it. Instead, he turned his attention to me again.

"Maybe I can help you. The names are small, so that there will be as much room as possible, and it's difficult to find the name you seek if this is your first time visiting the stone. This is your first time, isn't it?" I nodded, and he smiled again. "So, tell me your mother's name, and I'll point it to you, okay?" Of course it was okay. I really wanted to see mother's name with my own eyes. But, I still didn't know her full name. I was suddenly embarrassed, and I suppose the blush that rose on my cheeks gave that away.

"Umm… Chihiro…" Work, brain, work! Certainly I had heard it _somewhere_!

"Nigihayami Chihiro." It was Miyu, and she was now standing next to me. How had she moved there so fast and without me noticing it? I didn't have time to wonder about it when the old man next to me spoke up.

"Nigihayami Chihiro, here." He said, pointing his finger at somewhere around the twentieth name. I placed my own small hand next to the name, and traced my fingers above the carved kanji. Yes, it was mother. She was here. She had died a ninja, when completing a mission. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes, but I didn't wipe them away. The Hokage continued in the same warm voice as before. "Do you know what these ninjas, who have been craved here, are called?" I shook my head, my eyes still on the familiar name. "They're called heroes." While the word might've woken up some other child's interest, to me it did no good. It didn't matter if mother was a hero or not, if she was gone. The memorial stone was just another reminder of it, and I suddenly didn't know why I had wanted to come here in the first place. A silence stretched between the three of us, during which the Hokage lit his pipe.

"I remember your mother." I blinked rapidly, trying to get the tears out of my eyes as I looked at the tall man. "I remember her because she didn't want to be a ninja." Perhaps becoming old gave you the privilege to be cryptic, but I was too impatient to honour that.

"What do you mean, Hokage-sama? Why didn't mama want to be a ninja?" 'Why did she become one anyway?' I didn't voice the last question, mostly because I could feel a lump in my throat. Mother didn't want to be a ninja. She still became a ninja. She was killed a ninja. It was so _unfair _that I could cry!

"I don't know the details," the Third muttered, taking the pipe out of his mouth and blowing smoke out of his nose. "But sometimes we all have to make decisions that we don't like. As a Hokage, you have to make a lot of them." A soft smile touched his lips. "Perhaps your mother was encouraged by her family. Perhaps she had talents that were useful for a shinobi. Perhaps all her friends were going to become ninjas too." The old man sucked at his pipe again, blowing the smoke out of his mouth this time. "Or perhaps she wanted to protect her family, her friends, or Konoha. Perhaps she saw that by doing something she didn't want to do she ended up doing something she really _wanted_ to do." He smiled cryptically, and I just stared him. Then I blushed.

"I don't get it," I admitted sheepishly, but he just chuckled.

"Don't worry; sometimes even we adults don't get it. But would it be enough, for now, to think that your mother knew what she was doing? That she, in the end, really was happy for her choice?" I felt like crying again, but managed to keep it inside me and just nodded. "That's what you're here for, isn't it? To decide if your mother really was glad over her choice to die for the village - and for you." I guess they didn't automatically promote the strongest ninja of the village to the Hokage. As a Hokage, you were the caretaker, the protector of the entire village and everyone in it. You had to know better than anyone what they hoped and what they wanted, and choose the best words based on that information.

I think he could do it better than anyone else.

"You're here to decide if you want to follow in her footsteps." My gaze fell from his face back to the name carved on the stone. That was right. I looked at Miyu with a guilty look in my eyes, expecting some kind of a reaction. I should've known better than that. Her grey eyes were sad and distant, and the look on her face was the same as her eyes. As she realized I was looking at her, her expression changed to a shy, sad smile. I knew she had never intended to say anything of the subject, but her look was more than enough to tell me that she didn't like the idea of me being a kunoichi. I knew, for I was the same. Looking back at the Third again, I nodded. He raised an eyebrow. "But…?"

"I don't wanna end up like Mama did." My shaky answer was barely nothing more than a whisper. The Hokage couldn't understand it, but I meant so much more with that than just death. I didn't want to leave behind me a same kind of situation. I didn't want people to go through the same thing I had. I wanted to believe in that mother had really been happy with her decision. I wanted to be like her and do the same she had done, but if it meant I was going to leave so much sadness in my wake, how could I possibly do it?

"I don't think she would want that, either, Tenten." The voice came from my other side. Miyu. "And I don't think she wanted to end up like that herself." I wouldn't cry any more. I wouldn't let my tears fall any longer. Father told me to be strong and not to cry. Miyu's smile was sad, but reassuring. How many times had she had to reassure herself after her husband's death? "She knew that it could happen, but she made the decision anyway. It wasn't probably the right decision…" Her shyness kicked in, and she turned her gaze away before managing to get a grip of herself again. "But it was the decision that made her happy." I wouldn't cry.

"Truly, it must be so," The Hokage suddenly sounded a lot older, but it passed before he spoke again. "And that's probably the way you should choose too. Choose in a way that you think will make you happy." I nodded. I couldn't see him properly through my teary eyes. "I bet that's how your mother would have wanted it."

Strong girls don't cry. But I cried just a little anyway. I hope it didn't count.

---

I never wanted to be a ninja. My mother didn't want to be one, either. But, in the end, both of us ended up enlisted to the Ninja Academy anyway.

Even if I didn't want it, it was still my own decision.

_Our_ own decision.

I coughed up some blood again.

"God, Mama, how I miss you."


	2. Kunai and Kunoichi, part one

Disclaimer: The anime and manga 'Naruto', including the lovely weapon mistress Tenten, were created by Masashi Mishimoto and his respective partners. I'm not making any money with this fanfic.

Author's notes: This chapter, revolving around Tenten's years in the Academy, was originally going to cover the time from her entrance to her graduation, but seeing how long just the first two years turned out, I decided to cut it into two sections.

Here is _The Unwilling Kunoichi_, chapter two. Feedback, as usual, is voluntary but much appreciated.

* * *

**The Unwilling Kunoichi - Chapter two  
**by Haggath

I never wanted to be placed in a genin team.

Well, since you ought to know by now that I never wanted to become a ninja, that shouldn't come as that big of a surprise. But, this is different. I had different reasons for this one, believe it or not.

Graduation from the Academy and assignments to genin teams is an important milestone in the path of a ninja, as everyone knows. It represents a certain degree of skill, maturity, and responsibility in a ninja, and means that those ninjas now represent their village through their actions. The jounin who is assigned to the leader becomes the boss, the protector, and the teacher of those genins - in some cases, the jounin's role may be closer to that of an older sibling's than an experienced ninja's. The assignment also introduces the presence of death into the world of young shinobis on a whole new level. Age-wise, it circulates somewhere around the beginning of adolescence.

The changes are numerous, and their magnitude is heavy. It shouldn't come as a surprise that every year a certain percentage of the new genins is sent back to the Academy to re-take courses to gain maturity and more practice on their skills. Not everyone is ready for all the changes the graduation brings.

I sure as hell wasn't.

Still, that wasn't all of it. Let me explain.

I remember being frightened the day I was supposed to start at the Academy - terribly frightened. But hey, if you ask me, I had every reason to be so.

The ninja Academy of Konoha is a big building, and to a child, looks enormous - and downright threatening, if I may add. When I was standing under the Academy's gate that day, carrying a small backpack that held my lunch and other supplies I might need in school, I felt cold despite the warm sunshine. Stepping inside meant taking my first steps on a road that led to me being a ninja, and despite my resolve, I was still deathly afraid I'd end up the same as my mother. It had been one thing, deciding to become a ninja on a tranquil opening next to the grandpa-like Hokage. Actually taking actions to achieve that was an entirely different matter.

Miyu was standing besides me, observing me and the Academy in turn. I could tell she sensed my fear as well but said nothing. Father couldn't have made it there, but I couldn't tell whether it was about not being able to see his daughter become a ninja or because he had had work to do. Now that I think back to it, Miyu and father must've been much more afraid of my decision than I was.

I snapped out of my thoughts when the bell rang, indicating everyone that the classes were about to start soon. I could see how the other children began pouring inside, and felt my anxiety rise. I didn't want to be late right from the first day, but I was also more than slightly intimidated about stepping inside the large building. Thankfully, Miyu knew how to ease my mind. Must be the maternal instinct.

"I'll be here after the school is over, alright?" A brief glance over my shoulder confirmed that she was smiling. A heartbeat later, so was I.

A wave and a 'bye-bye' later I found myself wandering on the long hallway, my eyes darting everywhere before I finally found the sign of the classroom I had been looking for: '1B'. Judging from the noise and chatter, the teacher had yet to arrive. I sighed in relief and stepped inside, my entrance drawing the attention of some of the children in the class. I could feel their gazes on me, and saw a variety of different expressions examining me. Most of them, to my relief, were simply curious about the new person, and after confirming that I wasn't anything but another child, not very much different from the rest of them, their interest quickly died and they resumed to do whatever they had done a few seconds ago. However, they weren't the only type of stares I got. There were those - most of them boys - who looked at me with interested amusement, and I could hear them exchange muffled words with their friends, bringing out a slightly more audible laugh, laced with mirth that didn't ease my anxiousness about my first day at school at all, even though I couldn't identify why.

Later on, I was to be one of the main targets of their sneers, jokes, and pranks. Up to this day, I can't see _why_ did my future bullies me to be their victim-to-be - who could understand a child's mind, anyway?

Ah, but I'm jumping years ahead, again. Back to the classroom.

The quiet laughter I got from the boys in the back seat faded away as I noticed a pair of entirely different-looking eyes in the second row of seats. Even though children can be cruel, they can also be unreserved in a positive way, too, and the friendly, shy, and warm stare I got from the charcoal-haired girl sitting all alone on a seat made for three people, I couldn't but return her gaze, adding a friendly smile to it. A few seconds later, we were sitting next to each other, exchanging the first words of a budding friendship.

"Hi, I'm Tenten, what's your name?" I chirped happily, delighted when she seemed to mirror my mood.

"I'm Rinai," she answered in a voice as delicate as Miyu's, but with enthusiasm that seemed to mirror my mood. "From the Yamanaka family." By the time she finished that, I was able to make out a flower in her hair as she turned her head towards me. Most in Konoha knew that Yamanaka was one of its lesser shinobi families, but_everyone_ knew of that family's enthusiasm, skill, and long tradition in flower-tending. The flower which I could now see fully was a testimony to that skill, for instead of looking like a simple flora placed on top of her charcoal curls, it seemed so alive and so in-place that one might mistake it to have sprouted of her head.

I would give all of my best kunais to learn that skill. Well, at least ten.

Awe-struck as I was for the flower amongst Rinai's hair, I immediately complimented her for it. That, in turn, seemed to visibly please her, and she thanked me for the compliment, smiling happily. It didn't take any more than that for us to quietly decide that we were going to sit next to each other for today, and if it depended on us, for the rest of our Academy years. By the time our teacher arrived, we were already chatting like we'd known each other for years.

"Hello everyone, and welcome to the Konoha ninja Academy," the silver-haired man said, immediately getting the attention of the people who had been too occupied to see his arrival. I remember looking up at our sensei, thinking how tall and impressive he looked - and of course thinking he was very old. I didn't learn in years that he in reality was only nineteen years old, a fresh teacher of the Academy. "I'm Enoden Mizuki, and I'm to be your sensei," Mizuki said with a serene, genuine smile. "I hope we're all going to get along."

At that point, at the sight of our seemingly nice teacher, and with a new friend sitting next to me, I felt the rest of my fears disappearing. For the first time, I dared to think I would be happy in the Academy.

I know what you're thinking. Yes, Mizuki did turn traitor, trying to steal Hokage-sama's forbidden scroll of techniques and trying to kill a fellow Academy teacher, Umino Iruka - who was, if rumours are anything to come by, a childhood friend no less! He also tried to kill an unfortunate Academy student, who was caught in the middle, but I'm not supposed to know, much less tell anything about it, for Konoha's secrets are a very hush hush thing - but I think you know who I mean anyway.

Anyway, as far as I saw it, Mizuki was a nice, friendly teacher who took most things thrown at him - proverbial and material - with good humour, but who also knew how to keep a bunch of seven-year-old students under his authority. He based his teaching - all of it - on showing much, speaking less, and mostly letting us try things on our own. Perhaps it wasn't a very scholarly way of teaching, making us draw - and colour, of course - the maps of the elemental countries when teaching about geography, or make us work in pairs and produce a small poem or a song based on the teachings of the First and Second Hokages, but he seemed to like this particular way of teaching. Plus, it did channel the bottled-up energy of a herd of seven-year-olds, I give him that. The only lessons where his strategy didn't fare so well were the basic chakra control exercises and the meditation that preceded it. It was simply too much for children to be patiently sitting still for even five minutes, let alone a whole lesson. But where his students' patience ended, his own came to the picture, and he would often come up with a way to keep the most impatient ones relatively still. He wasn't an Academy teacher for nothing.

Yes, I did like Mizuki. He was a good teacher, and a kind one at that - nowadays I know not many of the teachers held as much patience for their students as him or Umino Iruka, who was also one of the best chuunin in handling the children. I often find myself wondering what caused my silver-haired sensei to snap, and then, logically, go through my own memories to see if I had noticed anything that would've given away his change. Thankfully, I've yet to find a memory like that. I would probably choke on guilt if I did.

Apart from our teacher, the other person in the class who had become the subject of my liking - and secretly, awe - was my newest friend, Rinai. It was true that the name of her family had caught my interest; I mean, what girl wouldn't feel drawn to bright and beautiful flowers that had a scent sweeter than any other in the Fire Country? At least, that's what they claimed of Yamanakas' skills, and as I've come to learn, they weren't exaggerating very much. Even so, it was the charcoal-haired girl's personality that caused me to bond with her: She was a kind person, avoiding saying, much less doing, anything to other people that would hurt them, yet still she had a perfectly clear picture of her own worth and a healthy ego - she didn't take the sneers nor joking comments thrown at her well, and she often gave the spiteful kids a piece of her mind clearly _and_ loudly. Rinai was a Yamanaka, after all, despite the dark hair that seemed to clash with the fact that most of her family had blondish hair. Just goes to show that marriages aren't so restricted amongst the lesser 'clans', lucky them.

To me, a plain girl with plain looks, who came out of a plain family and who easily got nervous in an unusual situation, Rinai was nothing short of an idol with her well-known family name, flowing black hair that was every day decorated with a beautiful flower, and self-esteem that would make anyone wonder about the state of their own. It was obvious that in our friendship, she was the ringleader and I was the underling - a fact that she never seemed to abuse, yet seemed to be perfectly aware of anyway.

As the first year in the Academy progressed, our class absorbed the mentality, principles, and ethics of a Konoha ninja like a sponge - much to our sensei's pleasure. His good nature and humour seemed to have an effect on us, too, and the atmosphere of our class gradually got warmer and warmer, making the Academy feel more like a place to meet our friends - some more well-known, some less - rather than a road to the hard life of a ninja. Again, I have to credit Mizuki, this time for fooling the group of youngsters so well.

Don't misunderstand me; I'm by no means praising how we were taught to become ninjas. In fact, now that I look back at it, I'm amazed at how _sickening_ the principles of the Academy are: We train children in a warm, relaxed atmosphere, see them form bonds of friendship, learn things,_grow_ - all the while teaching them to be loyal shinobis to Konoha, associating the principles, laws, codes, methods, techniques with the good and warm things they experience, teaching them that if you kill enemies of your village and even _sacrifice_ yourself for it, you help preserve all the good and beautiful things in the world.

It's god-damn _brainwashing_! Brainwashing that produces Konoha shinobi, who are just as devoted to their village as they should be - to the _death_.

There's a fine line between treason and thinking with your own brains.

But, be that as it may, I can't hold it against my former sensei, or anyone else, really. The fault is in the system as of whole, not in its parts. And if we think that our world is the said system, the parts are many, and the fault is _bad_. I'm glad I didn't think that way back in the Academy; I would've probably been a damn moody kid and ruined the class for everyone else.

Ah, but where was I? You shouldn't let me wander off like that, you know, letting me ramble like a maniac…

As the first class of the Academy was drawing to an end, more serious matters were included into our education: Namely, physical exercises. Of course, actual ninjutsu and taijutsu training was still far off, but there were still numerous forms of exercise - some of which hidden inside games and other things more interesting to a child - that could be used to increase the raw stamina of the young ninja-to-be. Also, as an exception to the otherwise pacific physical education, we were taught to use the first and foremost weapon of a ninja.

A kunai.

"Alright, class, today's lesson is weapon training." We were outside, gathered on the backyard of the Academy. It was spring, and despite the sunshine, the weather was still far from warm, so most of us were wearing jumpsuits or other long-sleeved clothing. We had been playing catch for the last half an hour or so, which served as a warm-up, and when Mizuki announced that we were to do 'weapon training', he managed to immediately catch everyone's attention. Well, at least all the boys' attention. When Mizuki whipped out a kunai from his sleeve faster than eye could see, they were hanging to his every word. What was it with pointy and metallic objects that roused every youngster's fascination?

"This is a kunai, a ninja-knife," he began, not going to waste the temporary silence and absolute attention he had. "A kunai is a ninja's most important weapon and tool. It's light, durable, and endures blows from much heavier weapons. Learning to use it is easy, but mastering its use takes a huge load of work. All in all," he said, flinging the weapon in a seemingly relaxed way at one of the hay dummies. In an instant, everyone's eyes focused on it, and no one missed how it hit the bullseye. If we had been fascinated before, we were awe-struck now. I bet everyone wanted to have their hands on a kunai now. I sure as Hell did. "A kunai is going to become your most treasured possession as a ninja, along with your _hitai-ite_." With his last words, he touched the metallic plate on his forehead, and smiled. We were sold.

"Now, I have some blunt kunais for everyone here…" It didn't take anything else to get all of us swarming around Mizuki's feet, eagerly trying to get our own kunai from cardboard container. The next minute was spent on distributing the kunais evenly amongst us, and the next five teaching us the basics of its handling: grip, stance, how it is thrown, which end goes to the target, and so on. After that, we were told to pair up and practice throwing on the targets, or alternatively basic close combat on the dummies. I, of course, ended up paired with Rinai, and by sheer luck, we ended up facing a round target instead of a dummy. I've sometimes wondered if I had ended up somewhat different if it had been the other way round.

Rinai was the first one to have at the target, of course. Mimicking Mizuki's stance as closely as she could remember, she weighed the knife on her hands, eyeing the target with narrowed eyes as if it had been the worst bully of our class. She was, to put shortly, an impressive sight, and I was of course fascinated by her confident appearance. I was absolutely certain that she'd hit the bullseye with that determination. After all, it's the attitude that counts, right?

You can probably imagine my shock when her throw didn't even hit the target. Of course, you can't expect an eight-year-old child, who has had next to none training in wielding the kunai, much less throwing it, to come off with very staggering results. But, back then, we didn't - we _couldn't_ - think it that way; To us, failure in something that seemed to be very easy to our sensei was humiliating and confusing.

"Shoot!" Rinai yelled as her knife dived in the thick, tall grass behind the target. "The wind must've caught it," she explained to me with a grin. I giggled, for both of us knew it was impossible. "Next one'll hit, I'm sure!" Taking the second kunai she had been given in her hand before dropping into a similar stance, complete with the facial gestures. Again, I was perfectly sure of my charcoal-haired friend's success. However, the second kunai ended just like the first, and Rinai stomped her foot angrily before turning to me. "You try now, Tenten!"

Uneasily, I walked to the spot she had previously occupied, and took a kunai into my hand. The target seemed to be so far, so tiny, and I suddenly didn't wonder at all why it had been so hard for Rinai to hit it. And, seriously, if she hadn't managed to do it, what chances did I have? Stealing a quick glance at her direction, I saw how she was looking at me with her hands crossed behind her back with an expecting smile. I knew she wouldn't mock me if I performed absolutely horribly - she never mocked anyone - but at the same time, I knew she wanted to see perform at least as well as she had. So, strengthening my resolve, I mimicked her stance the best I could, but couldn't bring myself to wear the same kind of face - that was just too much. Taking a careful aim, I concentrated on the middle of the target, and threw my kunai.

As soon as it had parted from my grasp, I just _knew_ something was wrong. I couldn't identify what had gone wrong: the stance, the grip, the movement, but I knew that my knife wasn't going to even nick the target. My hunch was confirmed when the kunai sailed harmlessly past the target much like Rinai's, but this filled me with strange unease. How had I known the outcome immediately? As I looked at Rinai, my worry must've shown, for she said:

"Hey, don't worry about it! You'll do better with your next one!" Normally, I would've been right away cheered up by her support, but the throw bugged me for different reasons than what she thought. Weighing the second kunai on my left hand, I hesitated on throwing it. Would the same thing repeat itself?

"Tenten, let me point out a few things you could fix." Spinning my head at the direction of the familiar sound, I noticed Mizuki standing behind me. Obviously, he had witnessed my first throw, and suddenly I felt very embarrassed. Thankfully, he didn't mention anything about it. "Take your throwing stance again," he ordered gently, and I obeyed. Crouching at my side, Mizuki soon adjusted the position of my hand, the angle of my left and right knee, and a number of other things that seemed very minor to me. All the time, he explained the reasoning behind the alterations to my pose, how this would let my arm move more freely, how that would let me get more strength to my throw, and how _this_ would be absolutely vital for the recovery from the throw. This went on for quite long.

"Mizuki-sensei," I complained. "I can't hold this much longer." My muscles were already starting to tremble from staying in the same, unfamiliar position for more than a minute.

"Oh, right." He stood up and pointed at the target. "Okay, try throwing now, keeping as many of those things I said to you in mind." Nodding, I relaxed for a few seconds before dropping into stance again, this time with Mizuki's corrections. And I threw.

I was surprised at how smoothly and _easily_the piece of metal departed from my outstretched hand, and totally taken aback when I realized that those little things Mizuki had fixed really _did_ make a difference. Again, a blink of an eye after I had thrown the kunai, I knew that it wasn't going to hit the target, but this time it wouldn't be so much off. Indeed, the knife missed the intended target, but this time only by an inch, whereas it had been more like a foot the last time.

"Very good, Tenten!" my sensei complimented me. "That was much better." It felt good, to be praised, but at the same time I felt guilty for getting so much attention, especially when Rinai was standing next to me. I quickly looked at her, but judging by the look on her face, it didn't seem to be bothering her as much as me. And when Mizuki asked me to get both of our kunais so that he could teach the same to Rinai too, I could see how her face lit up. Naturally, I dashed to the target to get our knives.

The next hour passed rather quickly, with me and Rinai taking turns on throwing four kunais in a row - she came up with the idea to combine our number of knives - at the target. In the end, she was pretty fed up with the whole practice, and gave all the kunais for me to throw, content on sitting next to me and watching me throw - she hadn't made much progress on her own throwing, and judging by the number of bored-looking kids on the yard, she wasn't the only one. As for myself, I was among the few who had actually scored a hit on the round targets, even though it didn't show - blunted kunais don't sink very easily into wooden targets. Because of my visible progress, I actually had the motivation to keep flinging the knives at the target 'til the end of the lesson. When Mizuki informed us that we should return to the class room for the calligraphy lessons, I found myself somewhat unhappy to leave the kunai practice behind, but my mood rose when he promised that we'd be doing kunai practice in the future too. And I just _beamed _when he assured that I could practice it on my own as well, as long as I told him of it.

How can I explain it, my immediate enthusiasm about throwing? I've known people who've been really passionate about painting, music, cooking, even something as silly as fishing - come on: fishing, in the land of Fire? - and I've seen how much it means to them. People who've really put their heart to their job always end up somewhere high, and enthusiastic devotees often end up with knowledge worthy of awe. Similarly like those people, I could tell I was interested in throwing, that I was passionate about it - only after one single hour we spent on the backyard of the Academy. How can I explain it, the sensation of the cold steel against my palm, the budding tension of my muscles, the feeling of repressed adrenaline as I aim, how throwing the lethal piece of metal in an elegant arc makes me feel like the most graceful thing on earth, my every sense concentrated on the kunai as it flies toward the target even though I somehow _know_ that I did well… And then, the satisfaction and the euphoria when I my eyes confirm that I managed to hit my target.

How can I explain it? How can I explain it so that you understand, that you _feel_ what I feel?

Perhaps I can't. Perhaps it isn't really meant to be put to words.

Let's just say I liked throwing things right from the start, okay?

When summer came and my first year in the Academy was over, I had gotten pretty well into the school; I had found a friend, had a good teacher, and had discovered that I was keenly interested in throwing. Of course, I hadn't forgotten that becoming a ninja could and most likely would put me in life-threatening danger, and I _definitely_ hadn't forgotten what had happened to mother, but I had thought those things over less and less as my education had progressed.

Just so you know, there isn't actual summer vacation in the Konoha Ninja Academy - and not really any other vacations, either - like in civilian schools. Instead, the number of the obligatory lessons and exercises is cut down, and there are many kind of optional lessons in their place for those who want or have to practice their skills in chakra control, calligraphy, history, mathematics and physics, just to name a few. There are exercise hours on various subjects, ranging from basic physical exercises to taijutsu and ninjutsu training. The Academy even organizes hikes and weekend camping trips outside Konoha's walls - under strict supervision and led by skilled shinobis, of course. Even all though all optional, most of the students choose to attend to them so that days are just as long and draining as on seasons.

Most of those things are barred from eight-year-old children, though. Apart from the special people - namely, children of the major shinobi clans -, practically no one from our class was given additional training in ninjutsu or taijutsu, which was something most of us, especially boys _really_ wanted to have. Instead, we were offered and encouraged to join the lessons of chakra control and theory behind ninja arts.

You can probably guess how excited we were about the idea of sitting in the dusty classroom listening the teacher's droning monologue about the fascinating world of chakra. Yup, we'd _totally_ be there.

Miraculously, most of us chose to attend the physical exercise hours instead of the theory lessons. However, as much as a bundle of energy children are, you couldn't work them up all day, so the exercise hours never covered more than three hours of our day. After that, options were to attend the theory lessons or head home. There were those, of course, who were more content working themselves out 'til they dropped rather than choosing one of those options, most of whom boys, unsurprisingly - not many of us girls had as much physical strength or as much enthusiasm about physical training as the boys. In the end, most of us opted to go home.

Not me. Even though I was tired after the physical exercises and the day's lessons, I still had enough energy left for throwing - as if I'd ever run out of energy to do it. Thanks to Mizuki-sensei, I could have as much kunais as I wanted, and because there rarely were other children practicing in the afternoon, I often had all the targets just for me. Sometimes my silver-haired sensei came to supervise my throwing, correcting my technique and complimenting me, of which the former grew rarer and the latter more common as weeks passed. There were only two real downsides: I had no one of my own age to keep me company; Rinai - or any of the girls, really - didn't share my interest in throwing, and practicing with the boys seemed just _icky_ - boy germs and all that. The second was that I eventually grew frustrated with the blunted knives: No matter how hard I threw, I just couldn't get them stick to the target. When I complained about this to my teacher, he explained that he wasn't allowed to give sharpened kunais to first grade students. He also hinted me not-so-subtly that he had no power over what I did _home_, however.

Back at that time, it was pretty obvious why the idea of training home had never even passed my mind. Ninjas, and all things related to them, were a sore subject there, and despite that I didn't avoid thinking about them as much as before, I still drew a clear line between my studies at the Academy and my life at home: No training there and no mourning at school. But as the realization that I could practice throwing, my passion, as much as I could home, that line became a lot more unclear.

Nonetheless, it took me over two weeks to gather up the courage and talk to father about setting up practice targets on our backyard for me to throw at. He didn't seem happy about the idea, but when I explained that it was more for my own interests than those of the Academy, he seemed to overcome his own sorrow enough to do as I asked. Getting sharp knives from him for me to throw, however, was an ordeal entirely of its own - let's just say that in the end, I got five kunais from him, and hope that ends _really _justify the means. Adding those pieces of metal with the ones I had gotten from my cousin, I had seven sharp, lethal kunais - all for me.

And of course I just _had_ to cut my hand on one of them the first day I practiced. It took me a whole week to convince father that I would be more careful in the future.

Mind you, I've never cut my hand, or any other limb, on weapons of my own after that day.

Anyway, afterwards I was dang glad I made myself go through the whole hassle, for with the sharp kunais, throwing seemed to rise on a whole new level; It felt more real, more serious, no longer something that you'd teach to little children, but instead real, powerful,_beautiful_ ninja arts. I was glad, no, ecstatic, to also notice my results rise along with the fascination - a week after I had started training with the real kunais, I hit my first bullseye.

I must've scared father and Miyu spitless with my triumphant cry.

It wasn't until a little later, when my joy had lessened, that I began to get depressed. Now that I had managed to get to the level I wanted and hit the bullseye, what was there more to achieve? The _emptiness_ I suddenly felt was unbearable, and I nearly cried when I told about it in the dinner table. Thankfully, Miyu knew how to cheer me up. She asked me kindly how many throws I had made so far, to which I of course couldn't have answered - the number felt too enormous for me to understand. Then she asked how many bullseyes I had gotten. Sniffling, I answered truthfully, that I had gotten one. Her smile didn't hold any traces of mock when she pointed out that the ratio between my throws and bullseyes wasn't really good.

That silenced me immediately. Miyu didn't say anything more, but it was enough: The realization that I still had some work to do was already sinking in. When I realized just _how_ much I could do to improve with my throwing, my eyes widened. I let out a delighted yell for the second time that day.

Damn those maternal instincts of yours, Miyu.

Needless to say, I practiced even more after that day, and when it was the time for me to enter the second grade, my skills had progressed up to the point where I could certainly get one bullseye out of every ten throws. That in itself was enough for me to begin the second year with fervour, just to show Mizuki-sensei and Rinai how much I had progressed.

It took me a while to get a chance to impress everyone with my skills. Right from the start, everyone could tell the second year was going to be a lot tougher than the first: Not only were the days longer, but they also consisted mostly of physical training and chakra control exercises. In addition, the few actual lessons we had were more and more about the drier and harder subjects, such as physics a ninja should know, and seal memorizing and their exercise. It was clear that we were being prepped for the ninjutsu and taijutsu training to come, and even though Mizuki did his best to soften the impact, the pressure and the pace of training was, bluntly put, hard on children as young as we.

It took two whole weeks before we had our first kunai practice of the year, and it didn't go as I had hoped. Again, we were given blunted kunais and again, Rinai was the first of the two of us to throw. And, yet again, she missed the target on both of her throws - to her defence it must be noted that so did many other child. But, as usual, she passed it with a shrug. When it came my turn to throw, however, I tossed the blunted kunais aside and took out a knife of my own from my pack, much to Rinai's shock and awe. I knew I didn't have much time before Mizuki-sensei would come and lecture me about taking sharp knives with me to school, so I did my best to aim and throw as quickly and accurately as possible.

It was a bullseye. I couldn't help myself, I just grinned wildly at my charcoal-haired friend who stared at me with her mouth open. For the first time ever, I saw admiration, a tinge of jealousy, and uncertainty in her eyes. When I threw again, and got a bullseye this time too - which was more luck than anything, I was still pretty ditzy from my previous success - the uncertainty in Rinai's eyes grew, and that's when I began to get worried. She was _never_ uncertain. Even after Mizuki confiscated my knives for the rest of the day, thus thwarting my graceful success quite a bit, my friend remained uncharacteristically quite for a few hours, which in turn troubled me more than anything. It wasn't until lunchtime that she managed to get back into her confident self.

That was, unfortunately, just the beginning - the first loose stone that starts the avalanche. As the second grade progressed, Rinai started to become more and more uncertain, in both her nature and her performance. This, as you can probably guess, didn't go well with the gradually toughening education. I admit, I didn't do so well either, being only average or even below it: my chakra control was average for children my age, but below what kunoichis-in-training normally could do, and my chakra pool couldn't come anywhere near the sterner boys. I was average in the more scholarly subjects: calligraphy, history, geography, mathematics - but in turn, my knowledge and skill of hand-seals was amongst the lowest of our class, accompanied by Rinai and a few others. But, unlike my best friend, I had my throwing to boost my confidence - it didn't take me very long after the start of the Academy to realize that it was on much higher level than other kids' of our class. My charcoal-haired friend knew this, too, and it became more and more obvious after every kunai practice we had. Back then, I didn't realize exactly why my own throwing was so harmful for her ego, but I would've been blind not to notice the connection between them.

And I couldn't do a thing about it! I did my best to help her train her skills in projectiles, but it was obvious that she wasn't progressing as fast as she wanted - as fast as I had - and that only further deepened her worry. I even tried performing sloppier than usually once, but she saw through my bluff, and seemed to feel twice worse than usually. In the end, all I could think of was to cheer her up and try to seem spirited to keep her own hopes up, and that's what I ended up doing more and more as our education marched onward.

Sometimes around winter I realized that something had changed in our friendship. It happened when one of the loudmouthed boys of the back seat commented loudly on how 'useless' and 'weak' us girls were, using the two of us as an example: 'Just check those losers over there,' as he put it, pointing at our direction. In a flash, I had flung a half-empty scroll I had been painting on at him, and managed to hit him square in the forehead. Of course, this was followed my me yelling at him for being a 'sack of air' due to his boasting, an 'idiot' for viewing the girls like he did, and 'ugly' for, well, being ugly. I was rewarded with grumbling from his part and cheering from the other girls' part, except from the girl sitting next to me. As I looked at Rinai, I saw her smile widely at me, respect in her eyes for my courage.

It was then I realized that our roles had completely reversed: Her initial pride and confidence for her family name had been nearly completely wiped off by her lack of success, and the timidity and shyness I had borne when I had entered the Academy had been pushed aside to make room for my passion and skill in throwing kunais, as well as the need to stand strong to support my friend. She wasn't stupid - she knew it too, but I never asked what she thought about it.

Now that I think back to it, I don't think she minded. I knew I didn't. After all, we were still best friends when the second year ended, and that's what mattered.

When summer came and the number of lessons of the whole class was reduced, things changed. Rinai grew quieter, more distant, and her attention seemed to wander more and more often during the lessons. She didn't attend the exercise hours anymore, but opted for going home as soon as she had her completed her obligatory lessons for the day. That, in turn, gnawed at _my_ morale to attend them, and I often went to the empty target range to do the only thing I could do alone, the only things I really _wanted_to do.

A week before the mid-summer training ended and the third grade would start, Rinai stopped attending the mandatory lessons. The same day I was approached by Mizuki-sensei.

"Tenten, could you please stay here? There's something I need to talk with you." Just the tone of my silver-haired teacher's voice was enough to stop me and sit on the closest vacant seat. The lesson had ended, and our class was moving outside for the physical education. My classmates gave me curious looks as they passed me. It's not very often Mizuki asked someone to stay in the class, and I wasn't known to stir trouble or otherwise do something that might earn me a lecture. But being the obedient girl I was, I sat still while the room emptied, leaving me to face my solemn-looking teacher.

"Tenten, you're probably wondering why Rinai isn't here today." Damn right I was - she never skipped lessons, and was rarely sick. As I nodded, Mizuki sighed wearily, and I could tell this wasn't his best day. "The thing is: she dropped out."

"What?!" I was leaning over the desk, supporting myself with my hands, eyes disbelieving and voice furious. I knew I should've controlled myself better, but that was just a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. My best friend had _dropped out_, given up! "Whaddya mean?! Why?!" Again, Mizuki sighed.

"I've talked with her and her parents about it along the year. Ever since from the beginning of the second grade, she has felt that becoming a ninja might not be the best option for her after all." I felt a lump form in my throat. It had been in the beginning of the year when I had shown her how much my throwing had improved. Did that mean that it was because of _me…_? No, it _had_ to mean it was because of me…

Mizuki's eyes hardened slightly. He seemed to be able to know what I was thinking, because he shook his head. "Tenten, it's not your fault. Not to the slightest." Of course, one doesn't quiet down child's fears all that easily.

"But… If I hadn't… If I hadn't boasted…" In a matter of seconds, my teacher was next to me, crouching so that our faces were on the same level. He smiled.

"Tenten, without you, Rinai would've dropped out a long time ago. One of the reasons why she stayed in the Academy this long was because of _you_." I sniffled, fighting back tears. Why, why was I so emotional? "She often said: 'Tenten tries her best, and so should I. She always works so hard, but still tries to help me.' It was very nice of you to help her, Tenten." Mizuki-sensei stretched out his hand, patting me on the head gently. "I'm sure that she'll end up happy with her decision." Straightening up, he walked back to his desk, leaving me to chew on his words bitterly.

Decisions, decisions, it was _always_ decisions that ended up taking people away from me! First mother, and now my best fried. When would people start caring for _my_happiness? I clenched my fists, feeling my anger rise.

"Tenten." I snapped out of my irate thoughts at my teacher's stern voice. Looking up, I saw him looking more serious and stern than ever before. "It was her own decision, about her own life." I blushed, wondering how he had managed to know what I had been thinking - again. My gaze fell, and I felt horribly ashamed. Of course it was her own decision, of course she would care for her _own_ well-being first. I would do, I _had done_ the exact same thing. I had no right to feel angry or betrayed because of it.

"Sorry, Mizuki-sensei," I mumbled sombrely.

"I'm glad you see my point," he said, and I could hear from his voice that he was smiling. "And just because Rinai isn't an Academy student any longer doesn't mean you couldn't still be friends with her." I brightened up a bit at that, but somewhere deep inside me I knew it just wouldn't be the same. I nodded and smiled at my sensei nevertheless.

"Yeah, Mizuki-sensei." Our talk wasn't anywhere near finished, however.

"Tenten, there's something else I need to talk to you about." Again, his voice became more serious, and something that sounded like strained. "And this time it's just about you." I swallowed nervously. Mizuki sighed and rubbed his temples, gazing out of the window as he spoke. "I've seen just how good you've become with your throwing, and I haven't been the only one. Ever since I reported of your progress at the start of this year, you've been observed by other teachers as well. Oh, don't look so shocked," he commented with a smile upon seeing my surprised expression. I had thought I had always been alone when I had trained. "They wouldn't be very much of a ninja if they let an Academy student spot them, now would they?" This time I bet his smile was more because of my irritated blush than anything. No child likes to be underrated. Then he became all serious and business-like again.

"Tenten, there's a system here you, or any other student, haven't been told about." Oh, I just loved secrets. Grabbing a chalk, he turned to the board and started to draw symbols. "It goes like this: The Academy starts taking in students at the age of seven, like you and the rest of the class. You're then taught for five years, and you should graduate at the age of twelve." Mizuki drew a circle on the board and an arrow pointing up on it, and then drew a horizontal line on where the arrow ended, writing 'genin' next to it. "However, that's not all of it. The Academy accepts students as early as at the age of four, under the condition that children are from a major clan of Konoha, or that they have enormous potential. These students' education will be physically much tougher, in addition to the training that they often get home, and their days are longer. Still," Mizuki said, drawing a square on the board, lower than the circle, and an arrow on it, which ended on the genin-line as well. "These students will graduate and become official Konoha-nin at the age of twelve like other students - save for a few exceptions who manage to graduate earlier."

"Like?" I interrupted, my curiosity taking the better of me. There's a limit of how long a little girl can stay silent. Mizuki smiled slightly.

"Well, there have been a few children who've been called geniuses of their age group, and even as gifted as prodigies. But they're not-"

"Prawdigeez?" I tried to repeat the unfamiliar world. Mizuki-sensei's smile only widened.

"Pro-di-gy," he told me slowly. "A wonder-child; Someone who is very specially gifted and powerful. Someone special," he concluded, nodding as in agreeing with himself. "But you don't really have to know of them until you're older." He raised his chalk again, trying to continue his explanation, but I wouldn't let him to. Not now, when he had piqued my curiosity.

"But I wanna know! Tell me of them, I bet it's a good story!" My teacher sighed, and I thought at first that he was going to refuse and 'tell me later'. Instead, however, a different kind of emotion passed over his face before he smiled again. Cunningness.

"Alright, Tenten, I'll tell you."

Now, when I told you that my teacher wasn't a very scholarly type of teacher, I didn't mean to say that he didn't like speaking. No, it was the quite the opposite: When Mizuki noticed that he had the full attention of his pupils, he used it to the fullest, and spoke as much as he could, for he knew that the attention wouldn't hold for very long. Sitting there in that classroom with only my teacher, he had no trouble holding my attention, and there was nothing holding his tongue back. He spoke to me of the major clans, naming the Hyuugas as the most powerful and largest - now that its biggest competitor, the Uchiha clan had been almost wiped out -, and how many of their children ended up enlisted to the Academy at the age of four and graduated with the highest numbers. He told me of the medium-sized clans and of their repertoire of success; the Aburames, the Inuzukas, the Naras, Akimichis, Yamanakas and how their offspring had formed some of the most powerful teams and shinobis of Konoha. He also told me of the geniuses that rose from seemingly minor families, making an example of the legendary White Fang and his son, Hatake Kakashi, who had an his impressive record; Genin at the age of five, chuunin at six, jounin at eight, and an ANBU captain at the age of fourteen. But, most importantly, he told me of the three Sannin:

"The three children were the first prodigies of Konoha, and their value to the young hidden village was very soon realized. In order to make them as skilled and powerful as possible, they were placed under the guidance and training of the Third Hokage himself." I listened, no; I _hung_ on Mizuki's every word as he detailed the trio to me: Jiraiya, the boy with an inextinguishable spirit, a keen understanding of the five elements - a genius of seal-making and the summoner of toads. Orochimaru, the pale-faced youngster who seemed to inherit his teacher's complicated mind with the ability to memorize a countless number of techniques - the strongest summoner of snakes to have ever lived. And then there was, of course…

"Tsunade, dubbed as 'The Princess' for her royal blood: She's the granddaughter of the First, and the niece of the Second. She has invented and developed most of the medical ninjutsu medic-nins use up to this day, and greatly affected the system behind determining ninja teams, making them more flexible and efficient. What's more, she has a flawless chakra control and is well-known for her raw strength that can be matched by no one, not even the strongest shinobi. She's everything a kunoichi should be." Mizuki was smiling, eyeing me as if to measure how well his speech had sunk into me. He probably wasn't disappointed when I let out an unbelieving yell.

"Wow, everything?!" I was completely awed. Mizuki was a sneaky man: At first, he had told me the tales of young men prodigies who had achieved much and gained much fame, and had left the Toad Sannin, the fabled Tsunade-hime last like a cherry on top.

"Yes, Tenten, everything," he confirmed, smiling. "She's a perfect kunoichi, worthy of becoming any girl's idol." There, that was the icing on the cake. And I swallowed the thing whole.

"She's so awesome!" I exclaimed. "I'm going to become just like her!" Mizuki's smile widened. The trap had been sprung.

"That's a good goal, but it requires a lot of work. Are you sure you're up to the challenge?" I hesitated a bit. I was by no means a genius like Tsunade or any other prodigy, and that showed in my every grade. Well, save for in one. I mimicked my teacher's smile.

"Yeah!" I pulled out a kunai, pointing it upwards. "I'll do the same with throwing Tsunade-hime did with chakra control! I'll master it completely!"

"That's the spirit!" Mizuki said, mirroring my enthusiasm, before his look became sorrowful. "But, Tenten, I'm afraid I'm not skilled enough as a teacher to help you get there."

"Wah?!" I asked disbelievingly. Mizuki-sensei was the best; he was my teacher after all. It just didn't fit into my mind that _he_ wouldn't be skilled enough. He smiled. He liked to smile.

"I'm specialized as teacher of young children, you see. Your skill with kunai is already above what I normally face, and I have to go along with your other classmates, because they are the ones I _can_ teach." He shook his head. "Tenten, if it were to that skill alone, you would've already graduated." My eyes widened. Sure, Mizuki had always complimented on my throwing, but to hear this…? This was beyond any pride I could feel. And there was still more to come.

"You're a genius when it comes to throwing, and your hard work is only adding to that. With it, I believe you truly can become like Tsunade-hime. But, like I said, not with me holding you down." So, what Mizuki was saying was that… He wouldn't teach me with throwing?

"You mean I'm going to get a second teacher?" I asked, puzzled by my teacher's words. He shook his head and turned back on the board.

"The system we have here in the Academy also allows students, who have begun their education at the age of seven, to move to the class of the students who have begun earlier. This will often happen if the student has shown skills and potential clearly above rest of their class, or," drawing an arrow from the circle to square, Mizuki turned to face me again. "Have been noticed to possess exceptional abilities in some particular ground. Like you." My eyes widened as the picture sank in.

"You mean, you're going to move me to a different class?" I blurted out, almost accusingly. Again, he shook his head.

"The decision is entirely yours, Tenten. I'm not moving you anywhere, and I'd be glad to teach you until you graduate." The silver-haired man let out a weary sigh. "But, like I've said, you've got potential, and I'm holding you down. This is how the system works in Konoha." He turned his head to gaze out of the window again, letting the afternoon soon bathe on his face. I absently realized just how much I had been sitting in the classroom, for the lesson had ended about one hour after noon. "Skilled ninja are our most valuable resource, and Konoha hates her resources go wasted. But, just as much, she hates to see her children pressed to do something they don't like." At that point, I wasn't sure whether he was talking to me or himself. "So, that's why you're given a choice. You can choose to stay under my tutoring, or opt for the higher grade. I won't lie to you, Tenten; It's going to be tough in there, but with hard work, I know you can make it work. But," with a smirk, Mizuki used his trump card. "In there, you can also reach your goal. In there, you truly have a chance to become a strong kunoichi like Tsunade-hime!"

The silence stretched on for more than a minute, with me thinking over the idea and Mizuki observing me. I silently hoped he didn't want me to answer right away - because I was sure I couldn't! To make a choice between familiar and safe but most likely in the end harmful, and unknown and hard but in the end rewarding on the spot wasn't just hard, it was pretty darn impossible! Thankfully, Mizuki knew this too.

"I've already informed your father and step-mother about the situation," my teacher said, putting the papers on his desk in order as he spoke. "And that I would talk about it with you." Scribbling something on an official-looking paper, he glanced at me a few times. "I'm going to pull you off from the lessons and training hours for the rest of this year. I know it's hard, but I'd like you to come up with a decision about how to continue in that time. That is, in a week." Smiling, he handed me a few scrolls. "Here, these scrolls contain the things you should know and the techniques you should handle in the upper class. They're above what you've been taught so far, but I'd like you to read them and decide if you're capable of learning them." Taking the scrolls, I was silently afraid of their size; They seemed double the length my normal scrolls. Again, Mizuki gave me a taste of his psychic-like skills. "Oh, don't worry, you don't have to learn them in a week: The teachers will be much easy-working on students such as you - but that isn't going to last forever, just so you know. Eventually, you will have to learn what's in those scrolls, and even master them at some point. But," the silver-haired man did his best to calm my fearful look. "Like I've said, hard work is all you need, and I _know_ you're capable of that." Mizuki fell silent, and then sighed, looking at me sorrowfully.

"If you decide to continue here, come to this class when the new school year begins. But if you choose the other option, go to class 5A." Putting the scrolls silently in my bag, I stood up, thoughts swirling in my head. I had already slid the door open when my teacher's voice interrupted me.

"Remember what I said about one's own decisions." I looked over my shoulder at my teacher, who was looking at me with a genuine, supportive,_fatherly_ smile on his face. "Remember that whatever you choose, I will support your decision, Tenten-chan." I blinked before nodding and hurrying out of the doorway. I had never heard Mizuki-sensei use suffixes before.

Despite that father and Miyu knew of what I had been offered, we never talked about it at home. They, too, would abide to whatever I ended up deciding. In the end, the decision was all mine to make, and there was no one I could ask for help. In the end, all I had were the scrolls containing the more advanced techniques and higher level information, and my jumbled mass of thoughts. And, let's be honest, it was going to be the latter which would determine my decision. The content on the scrolls was intimidating, yes, but I was confident in my own skills and Mizuki's words, and was positive I could hone my skills to the level they required. The only difference, of course, was the scroll of kunai and throwing techniques. As I first gazed upon it, I felt throat catch up in my throat and my hands tremble, but not because of fear - it was the sheer excitement that coursed through my veins.

Shurikens, senbons, fuuma windmills, hand scythes, wires, explosives - oh, my! The scroll opened my eyes to the fact that kunai, even though a primary projectile of the ninja, was only the tip of the iceberg. The number of the throwing weapons a ninja could use was formidable, their different uses staggering, and their potential combinations was nearly infinite! My excitement must've been obvious, for father let me have a number of shurikens and other projectiles from his workshop without objecting much. For the next few days, all I did was train, chopping three wooden targets to splinters and simply _shredding_four target dummies to pieces in my fervour.

That's how I wasted six out of the seven days I had been given.

On the seventh day, the reality came crashing down on me, and I began to fret over my decision. A week had seemed like more than enough time, but who could've known I would lose myself so totally in throwing?

Don't answer.

In the end, the scales ended up in a stalemate, with my passion, and my newly-found goal to improve it to the level where I could be reckoned as powerful as Tsunade in the one cup, and Mizuki-sensei along with the rest of my class in the other cup.

And it was threateningly weighing to the first option's direction, because I knew my dear friend Rinai was no longer going to be with me even if I opted for staying with my old class.

As I marched into the Academy, ready to begin my third year, I felt my goals change. Graduation no longer felt so important. Getting my hitai-ite didn't seem like such an important milestone anymore. I wanted to get stronger, I wanted to become better at throwing, I wanted to become as good kunoichi as Tsunade. Becoming a genin just wasn't satisfying enough any longer. Being in a genin team just seemed like a hindrance to me.

As I walked into the classroom, ten minutes before the first lesson would start, I noticed how I became the centre of attention - just like I had become the first day when I had become my studies. This time, however, there was not so much curiosity as there was inspecting and weighing. There wasn't a single pair of eyes that held similar friendly, accepting warmth like Rinai's had. In its place, there was coolness and questioning, hostility and silent sneering.

I didn't want to be put in a genin team without Rinai.

I didn't want to graduate without having Mizuki-sensei tie the hitai-ite around my head.

Yet as I challenged the cold gazes with a steady glare of my own, holding my head high and sitting down on an entirely vacant seat without a trace of hesitation, I realized this was how things were going to be. There was going to be no fatherly Mizuki-sensei, and no gentle Rinai. This was _my _decision of how things were going to be.

And if these prodigies, geniuses, and children of the major clans didn't like that, they could go bite dust, for 5A was now _my_ class too. 

* * *


End file.
